


Drunk in Reluctant Affection

by atlasoak



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drunk Draco Malfoy, M/M, Protective Harry, also posted on ff.net, harry is more slytheriny here, i wrote this all in one go at like 1am, plot holes everywhere, whoops sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 14:36:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10618974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlasoak/pseuds/atlasoak
Summary: Harry just wanted to finish his bloody potions essay.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy. If you read the tags, I wasn't kidding. This actually was written all at once at 1am. Yeek. This story is also available on fanfiction.net. If you'd prefer to read it there, hmu and I'll send you a link. I also feel quite obligated to say that I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I intend to make any profit from this.

Harry loved his friends. Really. He did. It's just ... he had a potions essay to write and wasn’t counting on being dragged out to the pub against his will just so Ron could hit on Hermione. Harry had tried to resist but had given up in the end. Really, what was just a little fun? Harry hoped the social interaction would loosen up his mind and allow him to get something, anything down on freaking paper. Besides, he really did want to help out his friend. 

And so there he was, packed into the corner of the pub like a fucking sardine, shooting glares at Ron whenever he dared to glance at him from where he danced with Hermione. He should’ve thought this through. Of course Ron would jump at the chance to dance with the his long-time crush, regardless of his poor best friend who had an essay to write, nevermind the fact that said best friend was already failing potions. Harry pushed that thought to the back of his mind. Who could blame Ron? Hermione was incredible and kind and understanding and the boy-who-lived was incredibly grateful for her friendship. 

He had sat at the bar for what felt like ages silently watching his friends dance together, choking back his laughter each time Ron tripped over his own feet. After an inconceivably long amount of time, he had looked away and directed his attention towards the bartender. Sweet alcohol, sweet sweet alcohol was exactly what he needed to get through this. 

He sipped tentatively, nodding absently in time to whatever the bartender was saying. He didn’t have time for small talk. He needed to get home as soon as humanly possible and finish his goddamn potions essay. He needed to at least pass the term. Apparently, saving the entire wizarding world annually “couldn’t be considered a full time job” and he still needed to “pass his schooling to get a job and earn money.” Thanks, Mcgonagall. 

He was startled out of his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder. 

“Sorry, mate. Mione and I are headed outside to … er … do some things.” Ron slurred his words, clearly drunk. “Do you mind waiting?” 

Great.

Incredible.

Amazing. 

Harry swallowed his bitterness and forced a smile on his face. 

“Sure, whatever Ron. Try and be quick though you know I have a potions-” 

“Thanks, mate! You’re the best!” Ron slapped his friend’s shoulder and shook it lightly, leaving Harry to stare at his friends as they made their way towards the entrance, screaming internally as Hermione winked at him before turning her attention back to the stumbling Ron.  
He sighed and took another swig of his drink. He expected this from Ron, but from Hermione? He frowned but then shook his head fondly. They looked happy for once. Who was he to deny them? The war was hard on them. The war was hard on everyone. Harry shuddered at the thought. 

He stood and mumbled a goodbye to the bartender. Clearly it was going to be a long night and Harry didn’t intend to spend it pretending to care about the sixteen thousand million types of rum. He made his way to a seating area and had just set his drink down when he was very rudely shoved into the wall. 

Thump! 

The sound of his head colliding with the wall echoed through the room. Ouch. Harry rubbed the back of his head and noted that he was definitely going to feel that tomorrow. He didn’t realize that he had instinctively closed his eyes on impact until he opened them. He couldn’t see. 

Somehow in the altercation his glasses must have slipped off his face. Harry sighed. The night was just getting better and better. Left alone without his glasses, his only choice was to flap around like a fish, running his hands over any and all surfaces until he found them. He eventually managed and checked the glasses for any cracks, though he was certain that the glasses weren’t as damaged than his pride. He really didn’t want to buy a new pair. 

Once assured that his glasses were fine and he didn’t have to buy a new pair after all, he took a deep breath. It wouldn’t do to be snappy and rude when dealing with whoever had knocked him over. That wouldn’t be very Gryffindor of him. 

Shoving his glasses back onto his face he turned to help the other person up. They looked familiar- white blond hair, thin pale wrists. He knew this person, he was sure of it. Their eyes locked. Wait a minute...

“Malfoy? What are you doing here?” Malfoy didn’t seem like he was ready to answer, his hands trembled as he struggled to stand. His usually impeccable hair lay in messy strands, framing his angular face. Harry thought it looked nicer that way, made the git look more approachable. 

He extended his arm, planning to help him up. When it became apparent that Malfoy was not going to accept his help he huffed. Gripping one of the boy’s wrists he tugged him up into a standing position, catching his rival’s waist as he stumbled forward. 

“You good, Malfoy?” he asked, seizing a wild elbow as Malfoy flailed, struggling to stand on his own.

“I…don’t need your help… Potter.” Malfoy said, drawing the words out. Harry chuckled. Perhaps the night wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

“Sure you don’t. Come on, you slimy git.” Harry exclaimed. “I’ll take you back to the dormitories.” He recalled his promise to wait for his friends and decided to break it, just this once. They weren’t children. They could take care of themselves. With that in mind, he placed an arm underneath Malfoy’s knees and began to lift him. Malfoy’s head lolled against his shoulder and Harry resisted the urge to pull him closer. He began to walk. 

No matter how adorable Malfoy was when he was drunk, they were still rivals. He did not care about the bloody prat. Not at all. He was only doing this to appease his own gryffindor-ish hero complex. Besides, he couldn’t just leave the boy at the pub. He would have been trodden on. And what if he had a concussion from the fall? What kind of “saviour of the wizarding world” would he be if he just left him there? 

All too soon he reached the slytherin dungeons. Harry sighed and transferred Malfoy’s dead weight to his other arm, settling him against the wall. He knocked on the entrance to the common room, sprinted the other direction and shielded himself from sight. He didn’t wish to be interrogated by any of Malfoy’s loyal bodyguards. No, he had things to do. 

Staying just long enough to make sure someone had taken care of Malfoy, he left the dungeons. He didn’t look back.

With his unfinished potions essay in mind, Harry quickened his pace. Unless he fancied spending a friday afternoon in detention with Snape, he needed to get the essay done. He could fret about his apparent affection for his rival later.


End file.
